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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26668597">Swords and Starbursts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent'>ddagent</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Baker Jaime, Caterer Brienne, F/M, Prompt Fill, Weddings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:29:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26668597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A prompt collection, originally posted to tumblr, featuring the relationship between Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth. The follow-up to 'Cubs and Gemstones'.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>389</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. "Heavy is the Head" [King Jaime struggles after losing his hand; Canon AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>He was no longer King Jaime, first of his name. No longer the Golden Lion; no longer, perhaps, even The Kingslayer<em>. </em>He was a shadow; the Stranger with a bloody crown. <em>A cripple. </em>A one-handed man who could barely protect his wife, let alone the whole realm. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And everyone knew it. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The first time Jaime ventured out of his chambers since his return to King’s Landing, he saw them whisper. The men who had stared upon him with awe, the women who wished he would entice them into his bed – now they just stared, and whispered, and <em>smiled. </em>He had been broken on the King’s Road; his sword hand, his crown, his whole <em>world </em>taken by a man who had been slain not by Crown soldiers; not by Lannister men. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No, King Jaime, first of his name, had been saved by his wife. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Your–your Grace,” stuttered his squire; a slight boy with a mop of brown hair. Jaime could not recall his name. “A–are you planning to d–dine at your usual spot?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime shook his head. “No, boy. <em>No.” </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He took himself back inside, then. Away from the whispers; the stares. Away from <em>everyone. </em>His <em>sweet sister </em>was the first to visit. She didn’t stay long; the absence of the hand that had touched her, <em>loved her, </em>bringing nothing but revulsion upon her delicate features. Cersei’s children – <em>their children </em>– did not visit at all, even though Joffrey had been at Jaime’s heel since he was a boy. His children with his wife did not visit him, either. He was not surprised. Tyrion has visited; Addam, too. But after a while, no one but servants came to see him. And even then, Jaime told them to get out. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And then, four weeks after his glorious return to the capital, the doors to his chambers opened. “If you’re bringing food, leave it by the door. If you’re bringing anything else, you can get the <em>fuck</em> out.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Charming as ever, I see.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime’s head snapped in the direction of the doorway. His wife was framed in the dwindling afternoon sun; her ocean-blue eyes catching the light. He turned away; his face cast in shadow. “Wife.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Queen Brienne swallowed. “<em>Husband. </em>The servants tell me you’ve barely been eating. Your squire—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—should not be talking to <em>you.”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Would you rather he talk to your father?” The Hand to the King hadn’t visited his son, either. Jaime bristled at the mention. “Thankfully, Podrick prefers my company to the rest of your family.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“How <em>delightful, </em>Wife, you’ve finally found someone in Court who can stand you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Other than my children, of course.”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime’s gaze met Brienne’s. He’d always been...<em>fearful </em>of looking directly into her eyes. They were guileless, and innocent, and he had loathed his reflection in them. He could say that that was what had driven them apart all these years, but in truth, they had never been together. Brienne of Tarth, Northern ward turned rebellion leader, forced to be his Queen to unite the kingdoms. He, the Kingslayer; she, the starlight who had helped save the city. Bound together by vows, hatred, and three blonde cubs with bright blue eyes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He sagged back in his chair. “What do you want, Brienne?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“To see how you are.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime laughed: the sound strained; his vocal cords unused. “And now you have.” He stood, inelegantly. His clothes, a mere muslin shirt and breeches, hung from his thin frame. He hadn’t shaved in some time; the only thing he’d done was change the bandages on his wrist. Jaime gestured with his right arm, waiting for his <em>dear wife</em> to pull away; run away. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She did not. “Sit down.” He didn’t move. “I said, <em>sit down.” </em>Brienne shook her head. “Honestly, it’s no wonder where Cat gets it from.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As Brienne turned towards a nearby table, Jaime did, in fact, follow her direction. The corners of his mouth twitched at the mention of their eldest daughter. “How are the children?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne thumped a basin of water down beside his elbow. "You’ve never cared before.” She folded herself into the seat opposite him. “Cat is fine. She’s avoiding your father; he keeps foisting suitors upon her. That is, however, when he’s not grooming Brynden to replace you as soon as possible.” She swallowed. “Joanna asks after you daily. She’s still young enough to love her father.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m sorry, Brienne.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“For what? Agreeing to marry me? Loving your sister? Having three bastard children and loving them more than mine?” Brienne sighed, trailed off; instead busying herself with soap and a sharp blade. Yanking his face close to hers, she lathered his cheeks and began to scrape the hair from his face. “I knew you were an oathbreaker when I married you. I should have known you wouldn’t keep your vows to me.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime didn’t offer a rebuttal. Just allowed Brienne run the blade over his cheeks; the steel rinsing in the basin. He felt lighter with every stroke, as if it were a sparring match in the yard. Jaime sighed. He would never spar again; never pick up a sword again. But Brienne...she’d slain Locke without a second thought. She was good. <em>Graceless, </em>but good. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Back in the woods, you were...I’d never seen you use a sword before.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, you were safely tucked away in the Red Keep when I was fighting with Robert and Ned.” The blade glided under his chin; no nicks or scratches. Perhaps he had been too premature in calling her <em>graceless. </em>“I’ve kept at it these last sixteen years or so. There’s a spot overlooking the Blackwater that we go to.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne flushed. “Catelyn and I. I taught her myself. She’s good. Better than Brynden. She was made to have a sword in her hand.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You can be un-made.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The blade fell from his face. Brienne dabbed a corner of a cloth in the basin and wiped the soap residue from his face. The pads of her fingers ran over the hollow of his cheeks, the roughness of his bottom lip; finishing the job. Her hands then pulled away, only to settle on his right arm. Brienne held him tight. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I cannot imagine the pain you are feeling. But I do know you are the most <em>stubborn man </em>I have ever met. You will re-train; you will be good – a damn sight better than most of the men in this city. You will fight, and you will be the Golden Lion once again. And when you are, all I ask is that you set my children and I aside and find a new wife. You will let me and my children return to Tarth.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Brienne—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—I’ll train you myself. And you can find someone younger, and prettier, and have babes your family can devour whole. <em>But not my son. Not my daughters.” </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime hesitated, but ultimately nodded. If he could do one thing right by them, it was this. “You have my word, for how little it means to you. When I’m fit again to retake the throne, I’ll set you aside and remarry. You and the children can return...you can go <em>home</em>, Brienne.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you, Husband.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Jaime.” He said as Brienne rose from her seat. It was always <em>Husband </em>or <em>Your Grace; </em>even after the times they’d fucked, there was always a barrier between them. He did not deserve her kindness and he felt no love for her, but he’d like to hear her say it, just once. “My name’s Jaime.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We’ll start tomorrow at sunrise. <em>Jaime.”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne left with a single nod. He watched his wife depart and then stared at the space where his hand should be. He’d lost <em>everything. </em>Cersei couldn’t bear the sight of him; his wife and children were desperate to escape him. But if he could fight again, that would be something. It wouldn’t be much of a life, but it would be <em>something. </em></p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. "Buttercream" [Caterer Brienne and baker Jaime share a slice of cake; Modern AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Could we get Chef Brienne?" [anonymous]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You sure can, Anon! I’ve done a little bit of a twist; I hope you enjoy it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the grand kitchens of Riverrun, Brienne and her staff began to clear down after completing a very successful reception. The hors d'oeuvres had gone down a treat: grilled prawns with a lemon butter sauce; miniature beef and ale pies with the Tully sigil baked into the water crust pastry. The dinner menu, decided upon after <em>lengthy </em>discussions with Edmure Tully and his new wife, had been well-received, too. Scallops with black pudding and a pea puree; seared sea bass with fondant potatoes. </p><p>As for dessert, <em>well, </em>that was Lannister’s job.</p><p>As the doors swung open to admit the waitstaff, strains of music from the live band travelled into the kitchen. Brienne looked up on occasion, catching glances of couples dancing; young children stuffing their faces full of wedding cake. During her early days of catering, Brienne had made a multitude of different desserts. Lemon tarts with crisp meringue; chocolate fondants with orange curd. But whenever she catered a wedding where Lannister made the cake, her desserts would remain untouched. Tonight’s apple mousse with oat crumble would go home with the staff as the guests opted for Lannister’s light confections. </p><p>“Chef Tarth.” </p><p><em>Ah. </em>The man himself. Brienne’s gaze returned to the surface she was cleaning rather than the elegantly dressed baker in front of her. While she wore chef whites – often burnt and covered in sauce by the time the bride and groom cut the cake – Jaime Lannister was in a three-piece suit with a corsage pinned to his lapel and cufflinks worth more than the happy couple had paid for catering. </p><p>“You know, you’re not supposed to outshine the groom on his big day,” Brienne said, getting in the first shot.</p><p>Lannister snorted. “No hope of you upstaging the bride in your chef whites, Tarth.” He paused, her words taking on new meaning. “Wait, are you saying I look handsome?”</p><p>“I’m saying you look ridiculous.” Brienne discarded her cloth and wiped her brow with her forearm. “What do you want?”</p><p>He grinned; his leonine features baring perfect teeth. “To congratulate you. Tonight’s menu was exquisite; Tully and his wife have already passed on your card to three of their guests.”</p><p>Any joy Brienne felt in the guests not only liking her food but wanting to hire her faded at the wattage of Jaime Lannister’s smile. She rolled her eyes. “And how many asked for <em>your </em>card?”</p><p>“Five, but it’s not a competition.”</p><p>“Of course it’s not.”</p><p>She moved to the other side of the island to check on Podrick and Hot Pie’s progress. Lannister, unfortunately, followed her. “Why don’t you join me next door? Have a slice of cake?”</p><p>“I’m working, Lannister. Not all of us can finish our work <em>before </em>the wedding.”</p><p>“<em>No, </em>but it looks like your work <em>after </em>the wedding is nearly complete. I’m not asking to dance, Chef Tarth. Just for you to take five minutes and have a slice of cake.”</p><p>Brienne looked around the kitchen. This part of her job was complete, although her waitstaff would be on hand to dole out desserts for those small few who wanted more of a sugar fix, and Gendry would be tending bar for a couple of hours yet. And she had been on her feet since early that morning; prepping for dinner service and ensuring that everything had been delivered correctly. Just sitting down was more of an enticing prospect than Jaime Lannister’s company. </p><p>“Okay. <em>Five minutes.”</em></p><p>Lannister beamed. Brienne removed her chef’s jacket and followed him out into the reception hall. The bride and groom had shared their first dance, cut Lannister’s wedding cake, and now their families were cutting up the dance floor. She waved at Arya, the groom’s teenage niece who had hidden herself away in Brienne’s kitchen during her last wedding over the dress Arya’s new sister-in-law had made her wear. More than a few of the female guests watched Lannister stride across the reception hall, staring at his arse in the tailored suit he wore.  </p><p>Flushed from the heat of the kitchen, Brienne met his stride so she could sit down quicker. They took a seat at an empty table at the back; Jaime handing her a flute of champagne and a small slice of wedding cake. “Here. Tell me what you think.”</p><p>Brienne cut through the cake with her fork and took a small bite. She shrugged. “It’s okay.”</p><p>“Okay? <em>Okay</em>?” He sighed. “This is a three-tier white chocolate raspberry cake. White chocolate sponge, raspberry buttercream that is lighter than <em>air</em> and—”</p><p>“—raspberry curd, I know.” Brienne smiled. “It’s good, Lannister. All your cakes are good. You don’t need me to tell you that.”</p><p>“Sometimes you just need to hear it from someone whose palette is as good as yours.” He sipped his champagne before leaning back in his seat. “Are you doing the Varner wedding?”</p><p>Brienne shook her head. “No, they’re going with Hunt Catering.”</p><p>Jaime snorted. “Their fucking loss. Fine; I’ll tell them I’m unavailable. Swann?”</p><p>“Yes.” Brienne took another bite of cake; a curious thought entering her mind. “You know, you <em>can</em> take weddings with other caterers.”</p><p>“I could. But why pair myself with mediocrity? You are many things, Chef Tarth, but mediocre isn’t one of them.”</p><p>She couldn’t help herself. She beamed. “You know, Lannister, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever given me a compliment.”</p><p>His champagne flute tapped against hers. “Don’t let it go to your head, Tarth.”</p><p>Oh, there was no doubt of that. Jaime Lannister might be a talented baker with a gorgeous face and an arse you <em>wanted </em>to watch walk away from you, but he was still the most arrogant man in the wedding game. Still, if it was a choice between him and the others – men like Hyle Hunt and Ben Bushy – she’d work with Jaime Lannister every time. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. "Not Marriage Material" [Childhood friends Jaime and Brienne ruin all their betrothals; Canon AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Childhood friends AU but in canon" [Anonymous]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My first time writing in seven weeks!!! Sincerest apologies if this sucks; I do hope you enjoy it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Is she presentable?”</p><p>From behind the handmaiden, a choked snort of derision echoed out into the hallway. Jaime, Lord of Casterly Rock, just smiled. The handmaiden, short of stature but sweet of face, merely nodded and allowed him entry. Her gaze lingered on his crimson tunic and golden curls before the girl took her leave; no doubt to return to the kitchens and wax poetic about the Golden Lion. Jaime took a moment to bask in the admiration before he entered his oldest friend’s chambers.</p><p>Brienne was sat in front of the looking glass, staring unhappily at her reflection. Jaime crossed the room and pressed his lips to her freckled cheek. “Lady Evenstar.”</p><p>“My Lord.” Brienne sighed as he perched himself atop the dresser. “Who is it today?”</p><p>“Loras and Margaery of Highgarden.” Jaime barely restrained a yawn. “It’s been a while since we’ve had any of the great houses.”</p><p>His remark earned himself a rare smile from Brienne; Jaime’s chest puffing up at the honour. “It wouldn’t be. Not since you pushed poor Edmure Tully into a ditch.”</p><p>“<em>Poor </em>Edmure Tully? It wasn’t <em>poor </em>Edmure Tully when he was being rude to the great Evenstar of Tarth.” Jaime plucked a piece of lint from his tunic. “Anyway, it wasn’t just me. Cat helped.”</p><p>Jaime’s gaze met Brienne’s, and his dearest friend’s stoic demeanour fell apart at the memory of the Lord of Casterly Rock and the first daughter of Hoster Tully pushing the heir to Riverrun into the drained moat. Brienne’s cheeks grew flushed; her sapphire eyes alight at the recollection of his company. He fell in place behind Brienne; his firm hands resting atop her broad shoulders. His chin then placed itself upon her head; the only time Lord Jaime Lannister would ever be taller than Lady Brienne of Tarth. He earned another laugh, her hand reaching up to cover her smile, and Jaime could retire happily knowing his day’s work was done. </p><p>“Come, my Lady Evenstar. The sooner we dispatch with the Tyrells, the sooner we can head to Maidenpool for the tourney.”</p><p>Reluctantly, Brienne took his arm, and the pair left her chambers in favour of the great hall of Casterly Rock. </p><p>Servants and stewards passed them without question as they walked, arm-in-arm, through the halls of his ancestral home. In one year, upon his sixteenth nameday, Jaime would officially come of age, and he would no longer be subjected to these <em>ridiculous </em>matchmaking efforts. He had hoped, with his father’s passing five years before, that it would have put paid to maiden after maiden being thrust into his path. Brienne, too, had hoped for the same when Lord Selwyn had passed the mantle of Evenstar off to her. </p><p>But here they both were. Dressed in their finest; the heirs of the Sunset and Narrow seas. Looking to see off their intendeds so they could watch grown men fail at fighting with sticks. </p><p>“Addam made me promise that we’ll be there for the first bout,” Jaime proffered. “We’ll have to be quick.”</p><p>“We’ve had years of practice.” </p><p>He grinned. “It should be easy. Tyrion says that young Loras prefers the company of the <em>rougher </em>sex.” </p><p>“And Arianne says Lady Margaery will bed anything that moves.”</p><p>“Perhaps we should swap partners, my Lady, and make our mothers happy at last.” </p><p>“And where would be the fun in that?” </p><p><em>No fun at all, </em>Jaime thought, as they passed through the last corridor that would take them to the great hall. Both his mother and the Lady Elinor despaired at being unable to find matches for their eldest children. They had been thrust upon the Tullys. They had been thrust upon the Starks. The sons and daughters of their bannermen had been trotted out intermittently since he and Brienne had been six; the Evenstar and the Lord of Casterly Rock finding fault with each and every one. </p><p>Of course, the first of them had been Brienne herself. </p><p>The daughter of his mother’s oldest friend; a match that would have united the east and west coasts of Westeros. Jaime had grumbled at being stuffed into an ill-fitting tunic and forced to act the part of a courting lord as he presented himself to Lord Selwyn and his wife. His mother had given him a red rose to give to his intended. But in Jaime’s shock at the sight of her – taller, with a smattering of mud-like freckles upon her broad face – he had dropped the rose at her feet. Brienne had kicked him in the shins at the slight, he’d pushed her to the ground, and the two were sent to spend the afternoon in the Sept ruminating on their behaviour. </p><p>The next morning, after the offer of a match had been reneged, Jaime had turned up at Brienne’s chambers to offer her a sword instead. </p><p>“Perhaps I’ll duel Loras,” Brienne mused as they came to a halt outside the doors leading to the grand hall. It had been a long time since they’d been able to disregard their suitors on a whim; their mothers’ insistence had forced them to get creative. “I’ve heard he’s good.”</p><p>“You’re better.”</p><p>Brienne grinned. “I had a good teacher.” Jaime beamed. “Ser Goodwin is a remarkable master-at-arms.” His elbow dug into her ribcage, and Brienne pinched the flesh of his stomach. Some things never changed. “I think that will send him on the first carriage back to Highgarden. Cocky young men don’t care for it when I knock them into the dirt.” </p><p>“Funny, I rather enjoy it.” Perhaps not when he had been seven and considered himself the best swordsman of all time – only to be bested more often than not by his best friend. “But your plan has merit. Now, to dissuade Lady Margaery. It’ll be difficult. I’m incredibly handsome, rich—”</p><p>“—arrogant, vain, <em>needy</em>—”</p><p>“—I am <em>not </em>needy.”</p><p>“I hadn’t even made it onto the grounds when you were throwing open my carriage door!”</p><p>“I missed you!” Jaime huffed. “But you might have a point. If Lady Margaery is so...<em>prolific</em>, it is perhaps the chase she enjoys rather than the prey. I could simply annoy her into forfeiting the match.” </p><p>Brienne frowned. “It’s risky.”</p><p>“It has merit!” Jaime’s arm slipped from hers; his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. Brienne mimicked him; her fingers flexing at the absence of steel. “My Lady Evenstar, the jewel of the east, if you are so sure of my failings, then how about a wager? The last one to get out of their engagement has to clean the boots and armour of the victor.”</p><p>Brienne did not even flinch. Just held out her hand for a gentleman’s agreement. “I accept your terms, my Lord.” </p><p>Jaime lifted her hand and placed his lips upon her skin. A fine blush covered Brienne’s cheeks; her chest hitching at the contact. Jaime’s stomach fluttered at the sight of her. Some days, their silly games and attendance at tourneys were enough. Other days, Jaime cursed the five-year-old who had decided that this singular woman was not enough for him when, in fact, she would grow to be his everything.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. "Procession" [King Jaime arrives at Evenfall to ask Brienne to be his Hand; Canon AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"How about hand!brienne and king!jaime?" [anonymous]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Can’t go wrong with a little canon divergence this fine evening! Thank you for the prompt, Anon; I hope you enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>Lannister sails were spotted along the horizon just as they sat down to break their fast. All three of the Evenstar’s children rushed to the window to stare at the fleet of boats making their way from King’s Landing. Their father, a hedge knight who had been elevated <em>far </em>beyond his status, huffed and called for ale. Their mother, the Evenstar, followed her children in staring along the horizon. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>At seeing the familiar red and gold, Brienne of Tarth smiled. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“All right, children, eat quickly,” Brienne said, depositing a kiss atop the head of her youngest. “The King will soon be upon us.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>From the table, Ser Hyle Hunt wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fucking fantastic.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne ignored her husband’s outburst and, instead, busied herself with preparing Evenfall Hall for the arrival of the King and his retinue. Rooms had been made up; barrels of wine dragged up from the cellar. The fishermen in the port had been out for days at a time. Ever since the raven from King’s Landing, the whole island had been captivated by the prospect of a visit from the Golden Lion. Some, however, remembered when he was nothing more than a cub. Brienne remembered him that way, too. Soft curls and an even softer smile. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She was looking forward to seeing that smile. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As the royal ships docked at the harbour, Brienne and her household finished the final preparations. Far too soon, word came that the King and his procession were making their way towards Evenfall. The people of Tarth lined the streets, and in the courtyard of Evenfall, House Tarth gathered. Brienne, in a sapphire blue tunic, stood proud. Her eldest daughter, Catelyn, stood beside her. Brynden was next; Joanna at the furthest end. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her husband brought up the rear. He let out a snort of derision at the sight of the sword resting upon Brienne’s hip. “Truly, Brienne? Even today?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Especially today.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Any potential argument was cut short by the clap of hooves against Evenfall’s cobbled walkway. The Kingsguard, their white cloaks flapping in the face of an oncoming storm, were first to enter. Next was the Prince, Harlan of House Lannister. His dark curls tumbled across his shoulders; soft brown eyes settling pleasantly upon Brienne’s eldest daughter. Cat scoffed, earning an elbow to the ribs from her brother. A carriage trundled across the stone, and then – <em>Jaime. </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Even decades on, he was still every inch the handsome knight from the old stories. His hair was darker, now; there were crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. But his smile was still soft. Still only for her. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>Brienne</em>.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hyle’s hiss of her name was not enough to break Brienne from her reverie. No: while her family and household bowed at their King’s feet, she stood standing. Jaime, never <em>King, </em>lifted a single eyebrow in amusement as he approached. “Do you not kneel before your King, my Lady?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I have never knelt to you here.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Both of us know that isn’t <em>quite </em>true.” Jaime wet his top lip; Brienne’s breath hitching at the memory of what they had done in this very courtyard. But the moment passed, and the King addressed his subjects. “As far as I recall, my Lady, our bouts were fairly even before the Evenstar’s daughter and the Lion from the West was called to war.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Maybe during your visit, we could finally determine a winner.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime simply threw his head back and laughed. He then enveloped her in an embrace; his fingers tight around her shoulder blades. “It’s good to see you, Ser.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And you, Cub.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne allowed herself a single moment holding Jaime Lannister in her arms before they both retreated behind the masks they wore. The King, ignoring the Evenstar’s husband, introduced himself to the children. He challenged Cat to a duel, asked Brynden if he would take him out on the seas, and produced a sunflower for Joanna to wear in her hair. It was then that the Queen emerged from her carriage. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Highgarden’s prize rose,” Hyle muttered, before kissing Queen Margaery’s hand when she presented it. “The songs they sing of your beauty, my Queen, are a pale imitation of the real thing.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Margaery acted demure as she accepted Hyle’s compliment – more than he had ever offered Brienne, other than a hand in marriage when she found herself with child after the war. The King, however, had no interest in praising his wife’s beauty. He turned to Brienne; his eyes awash with old memories. “I would like to pay my respects.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“My love—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—of course,” Brienne interjected. “Catelyn, would you ensure Queen Margaery and the court have everything they need?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her eldest nodded. “Of course, Mother. My King. My Queen, if you would follow me?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>While the royal household made their way inside Evenfall Hall, the King and the Evenstar travelled to the Sept overlooking the cliffs. There, a pillar of stones stood in memory of her late father. He had treated Jaime like a son, and he mourned him as such. Brienne’s gaze stole to the harbour and the Lannister ships while her oldest and dearest friend paid his respects. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When he was done, his hand lingered upon her shoulder. Then they sat, strewn in the grass like they had when they were children. With a wistful smile, Jaime spoke of their children. “I cannot believe how big they are.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Septa Roelle once said children are like weeds. They grow and grow and <em>grow.”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Especially children on Tarth. Brynden will be taller than me, of that, I have no doubt. Catelyn already is!” Jaime grinned. “I would like to know them better, Brienne. I know I have no right—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—they are your children, too. It’s not as if Hyle is under any illusions. He knows Catelyn is not his; she is nothing more to him than a bargaining chip to a lordship.” Brienne faltered, recalling the offer he’d made after she’d returned pregnant with the new King’s babe. The first of three. “He suspects Brynden and Joanna are not, either, although cannot give voice to it. It would mean I was unfaithful, like him, and Hyle cannot fathom anyone but him suffering the agony of bedding me.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime’s fingers brushed along hers. “It is an agony I have suffered before, and would for a thousand nights after this one.” He laced their fingers together. “Perhaps we could suffer together in King’s Landing?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A line formed across her brow. “What excuse would I give for visiting the capital?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You would be my Hand.” Brienne pulled her own away. “I’m serious, Brienne. After Addam, I...” He trailed off. Addam’s sudden death had been a surprise to them all. “I trust you, Brienne. More than anyone. It <em>has </em>to be you. If not you, it’ll be Loras Tyrell, and we both know the only Tyrell we can stand is a Redwyne. Come to King’s Landing. Bring the children. Hells, bring <em>Hyle </em>if you must. We were made to stand together. It has been far too long since I have had you at my side.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne did not know what to say. She knew King’s Landing was no place for her; the vipers of the Court were no less poisonous than when Jaime’s sister had crawled among them. It was no place for her children, either; the bastard children of the King, with his smile and stubborn streak. It would be a new kind of hell to see Jaime day in, day out; their last rendezvouses taking place on battlefields, in crimson tents where every day could be their last. But here – Jaime haunted her here. The knowledge of what had been, and the prospect of what could. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Let me think about it.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That is all I ask.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He asked too much. They both knew it. Like they both knew she would say yes.  She always did. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. "Princess of Wind and Sea" [Post S8 Brienne hosts a ball for her suitors; Canon AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Princess Brienne at a suitor's ball?" [anonymous]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for the prompt, Anon! You all know how much I love a royal AU. I hope you enjoy my spin on it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As potential suitors drifted into Evenfall Hall, Brienne of Tarth was struck by a peculiar oddity. The suitors were different: no longer the young men of summer but grizzled soldiers or green squires barely old enough to hold a sword. Evenfall Hall was no less grand in the dying light of the spring day, but it showed the damages of both winter and war. Her father, older now, still sat beside her, smiling. But there would be no Renly Baratheon to save her this time. </p><p>The herald stepped forward. First, he bowed to Brienne and her father. Then, he turned his attention to those who had come for good food, not-so-good wine, and a chance to win one of the many crowns now on offer in Westeros. </p><p>“My lords, my ladies, it is my pleasure to present King Selwyn of House Tarth, first of his name, King of Wind and Sea, and Lord of the Stormlands.” Those assembled bowed to her father. “May I also present—” Even with a crown atop her head, she was an afterthought. “—Princess Brienne of House Tarth, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.” </p><p>There was a murmur among their guests, and Brienne turned her head sharply in the direction of Ser Podrick, who had joined her father’s Kingsguard despite her insistence that he should remain with Sansa or find a wife or just <em>go home, Podrick, you don’t have to stay by my side forever. </em>But he had. Ser Podrick now stood beside her in blue armour; a sun and moon emblazoned upon his breastplate. He was grinning at the courtier; his face quickly morphing into a solemn expression when he caught her eye. </p><p>“Don’t blame the lad, Little Star,” her father said as they re-took their seats. “You are a knight, after all.”</p><p>“And still put on display like chattel.” </p><p>Her father’s lips thinned into a frown, but he said nothing more on the subject. Brienne had voiced her opinion loudly and forcefully already; later taking her frustrations out in the training yard when her father would not see reason. It was Ser Davos, who had joined Brienne and Podrick in returning home from the North, who made her see reason. <em>The Storm Lords didn’t choose your father to be their King, my Lady. They’ve heard the stories; the songs they sing in the taverns from Winterfell to Sunspear. </em></p><p>
  <em>They chose you to be their Queen. </em>
</p><p>“I shall go…mingle,” Brienne said, drawing herself up to her full height. “Father.”</p><p>“Little Star.” </p><p>Brienne descended from the dais. A few couples were already dancing; several of the young lads who Brienne herself could have mothered were well into their cups. Potential suitors circled her as if they were in a melee; sizing up their best approach. She recognised so few faces: second sons had replaced firstborns after the recent perils; young boys who had been at Brienne’s knee when she had departed Tarth now hoped to win her hand. </p><p>“Princess.” </p><p>“Your Highness, you look truly singular tonight.” </p><p>“May I have the honour of your first dance, Princess?</p><p>They grew closer, now. No swords or maces or axes in their hands; they used pretty sentiments and pained smiles to wound her. Her father’s crown offered more protection than her last ball, but Oathkeeper would have protected her more. It’s the island they wanted. The lordship. The crown. The kingdom. Not her. Never her. </p><p>
  <em>You don’t need to die with her. Stay here. Stay with me. I know you don’t–but we could be happy. I believe we could find some happiness together. </em>
</p><p>“Brienne.”</p><p>Her name cut through the chatter; the band now a mere echo. The other suitors faded away as if they realised they didn’t stand a chance in his presence. After all, who would? Not even the ghost of Renly Baratheon, who lingered in the corner of her mind this night, could stand up to the phantom of the man before her. But he was no longer a phantom. The dark circles under his eyes had disappeared; the ghostly pallor of a winter spent in the North had been replaced by tanned skin from spring at the Sunset Sea. </p><p>“Ser Jaime.” </p><p>He bowed his head. “Lady Brienne.” A wry smile crossed his features. “Apologies. <em>Princess Brienne.</em>” </p><p>Her gaze flicked to the crown atop his head; two roaring lions fighting for dominance at the apex. “I owe you an apology as well, your Grace.”</p><p>“No, <em>no.” </em>He shook his head; dark blonde hair brushing his forehead. “Never apologise to me. <em>Never.” </em></p><p>The band suddenly sprung to life, and the chatter around the room grew even louder. Brienne could pick out keywords – <em>King Jaime, Kingslayer, the Golden King </em>– and at least one boy was whistling <em>The Bear and the Maiden Fair. </em>In the moons since the Second Sack of King’s Landing, various songs had been sung in the inns and taverns of Westeros. Their adventures in Harrenhal had been a surprising favourite. </p><p>“They’re playing our song,” Jaime quipped; his smile instantly falling at Brienne’s severe expression. “Forgive me.”</p><p>She huffed an amused snort. “I am offered eternal forgiveness, and yet you ask it repeatedly for yourself.”</p><p>“I have more to apologise for.” </p><p>She did not disagree; she knew her words would fall on deaf ears. “Why are you here, Ser–<em>King </em>Jaime?” </p><p>“Tyrion received an invitation from your father. I thought—” </p><p>“—yes?”</p><p>Jaime drew in a breath; his eyes wide and alive like they had been the night they had celebrated victory in Winterfell. The night he had been too into his cups, drunkenly held her face in his hands and proclaimed he could drown in her eyes, before falling asleep upon the furs in her bed. That light quickly dimmed. Just like it had the night he had stole away into the darkness to die by his sister’s side, taking Brienne’s heart with him. </p><p>“I thought you could use a friend.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“If you still count me as such, of course.” </p><p>Brienne swallowed and offered her hand. “Of course. A future queen needs all the friends she can get.” </p><p>Jaime took her hand in his left and lifted it to his mouth. His lips left a faint kiss across her knuckles; his eyes never leaving hers. “Of course. May I have this dance, my Lady?”</p><p>The ghost of Renly Baratheon was exorcised as Jaime Lannister took her in his arms. Few other couples danced around them; marvelled faces watching as two knights moved to the music. Brienne had always been a surprisingly adept dancer; her footwork from the training yard serving her well on the dancefloor. It seemed as if Jaime’s years as a knight served him equally well. </p><p>“You know, I think this is the first time we’ve danced together,” Brienne uttered as the music finished. </p><p>As the band struck up another song, the candlelight turned Jaime’s eyes to wildfire. “No, Brienne. It’s not.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. "Oathkeeper" [Tywin brings the sword back to King's Landing; Canon AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I'm not a greedy person DD, I swear. But now you got me yearning for a scene where Tywin puts 2 and 2 together once he learns Oathkeeper is gone. Like maybe everyone expected for him to be like "fetch me that woman's head"; instead he's sending a raven to Tarth, with a marriage proposal in Jaime's name." [anonymous]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, part of follow-up February is going back through old prompts; some of them submitted weeks, months – maybe even a year ago! This one called to me as I’m in a Lannister-family mood. I hope you enjoy it, Anon!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>The capital was in disarray. King Joffrey was dead. His uncle, Jaime’s brother, had been accused of his murder. The King’s Hand, Jaime’s father, had disappeared from King’s Landing on <em>urgent business. </em>No one knew where Tywin Lannister was. All Jaime knew was that he had been called into his father’s study, Tywin’s gaze had narrowed on the sword at his hip, and then he’d left suddenly, leaving Uncle Kevan in charge. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ser Jaime, your father wishes to see you.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>The lion has returned. </em>Jaime merely nodded at the young squire and made his way through the halls of the Red Keep. Hopefully, they were to discuss Tyrion’s trial. He <em>knew </em>that Tyrion wasn’t responsible for Joffrey’s murder; convincing his father and sister of that fact would be more difficult than learning how to fight again. Still, he had hope as he entered the Tower of the Hand. Hope that died when it saw the sword sitting atop his father’s desk. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Oathkeeper. </em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Missing something?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tywin Lannister emerged from the shadows and planted himself on the throne behind the desk. His gaze lingered on the Valyrian steel blade before turning his attentions to Jaime. His father was watching him, weighing up Jaime’s reaction to the sudden appearance of the sword. Jaime just froze. He’d handed Brienne that sword; had placed his faith and trust and honour in <em>her. </em>And here was the sword. No Brienne. <em>Where’s Brienne, Father?” </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“Father—”</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You don’t have to explain,” Tywin began, leaning back in his chair. “It’s clear what happened. You trusted someone outside the family because she brought you back to King’s Landing. But Lady Tarth is loyal to the Baratheons and the Starks. It’s why she stole your sword and absconded from the city. It’s why she murdered Joffrey. It’s why—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime’s head snapped up. “Brienne did <em>not </em>kill Joffrey. Believe me, Father, if she wanted to kill you, she’d do it with a sword, not poison in a cup.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But she did steal your sword.” Jaime opened his mouth to protest again, but Tywin waved him away. “She stole your sword. And you, being the honourable <em>idiot </em>that you are, did not tell anyone about this <em>grievous </em>theft until she had already left King’s Landing. Luckily for you, I noticed the absence of the sword and her disappearance and managed to piece it together.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re wrong.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tywin raised a single eyebrow. “Am I? Because my men tracked her down along the King’s Road, and when I rode out to confront her, she had your sword. Along with Tyrion’s former squire, a horse, and a custom-made set of blue armour.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime crossed to the desk. His fingertips hovered above the sword; above the blade he had placed into Brienne’s hands. <em>Oathkeeper. </em>For both of them: a knight who had long stopped believing in honour and a knight who thought there might still be some left in the world. He should have given her the blade and kept the scabbard. He should have come up with some mummer’s farce about being jumped by the assailants that had poisoned Joffrey. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He should have gone with her. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Where’s Brienne now?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tywin stared straight through him. “Lady Tarth is a thief. She stole from the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. What do you believe I did with her?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His brother was the smartest of the Lannister siblings. His sister <em>thought </em>she was the smartest but could only see one move ahead while Tyrion could see three. Their father outstripped them both in intelligence and ruthlessness. Jaime was just a knight. He knew when to feint; when to charge. He knew when his opponent was leading him into a trap, and he knew when there was no fight left. Watching his father, Jaime knew that this was all a game to reveal his underbelly. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>What is this woman to you?</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime took the seat in front of Oathkeeper. “Lady Brienne Tarth, despite her <em>dubious </em>alliances, is the only heir of Lord Selwyn Tarth. The remaining Stormlands lords look to him for guidance with Renly dead and Stannis...<em>wherever Stannis is. </em>You wouldn’t have killed a highborn woman, and you don’t <em>truly </em>suspect her of stealing my sword. Not when, I’m sure, Brienne told you that I gave it to her.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The corner of Tywin’s mouth twitched. “She did.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You know what it means that I gave it to Brienne.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You care for her. Deeply.” His father would never do something so <em>unseemly </em>as <em>squirm, </em>but he was not impressed that Jaime had ruined his little game. “If your events on the road had not convinced me, your handing over a Valyrian steel sword was enough.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I see. So why disappear from King’s Landing? Why track her down on the King’s Road? Did you want the sword back so badly?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tywin pursed his lips. “I wanted to offer her the position of Lady of Casterly Rock.” Jaime’s eyes widened. “You cannot think I would <em>ignore </em>the first woman you have <em>ever </em>shown any feelings towards. I offered her your hand. She refused. Thankfully, her father saw better sense.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was then that Jaime caught sight of the letters scattering his father’s desk. On all of them was a blue wax seal with a moon and a starburst. “<em>Apparently, </em>Lady Brienne wrote to her father during her last stay in the capital. She mentioned you. Often.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“She–she did?” Jaime said, a hopeful lilt to his voice that he instantly loathed himself for. He tried to glance upon Lord Selwyn’s letters, but his father shuffled them into a pile. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tywin shook his head at his behaviour. “If you want the woman, Jaime, go <em>get </em>her. I will not sit here and watch you <em>moon </em>over a highborn woman when you both could be wed.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Drawing in a breath, Jaime pushed down his feelings: the turmoil over the possibility of Brienne being harmed; the flutter of a future together. “Brienne won’t agree. She swore an oath to Lady Stark.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His father’s sigh was deafening. “Lady Tarth has already agreed to marry you. Considering your disfigurement, that bloody cloak, and the ugly rumours concerning you and your sister, I was quite happy to agree to her demands.” Tywin paused. “After you both are wed, you shall track down your brother’s wife and bring her to stay with you at Casterly Rock. Sansa and your brother will both stay there. It’s best that Tyrion leave the capital, even now that Lord Bolton has been found guilty of Joffrey’s murder.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>What? </em>“Lord Bolton?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes. Apparently, he kidnapped Sansa with the intention of marrying her off to his bastard son and claiming the North for himself. He poisoned Joffrey as a distraction. We will collect his head in due time. The other one of your intended’s requests has already been met by my man in Winterfell.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And what was that?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tywin pointed in the direction of a wooden casket on a nearby table. Jaime rose from his seat and lifted the lid. In a bed of straw lay a severed head, the eyes wide and white. Jaime had hoped to never see that face again after leaving Harrenhal, although he’d entertained daydreams of doing the deed himself. His golden hand to club him; his left hand to thrust a sword in his belly. Jaime would have to find a new daydream now that Locke was dead. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Closing the lid of the casket, he realised that would not be a problem. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Lady Tarth is waiting with her squire in the gardens overlooking Blackwater Bay. I would suggest you go to her.” Jaime nodded and moved to leave, still in a daze from all that had happened. “And don’t forget her sword. She’s a Lannister, now, after all.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime waited until he was outside before he smiled.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. "The Ton" [Jaime, Brienne, and their three daughters return to King's Landing society; Regency AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"For the all-daughters AU: Bridgerton AU with Jaime and Brienne’s daughters begging to be introduced at the Ton or one of their daughters is secretly writing a gossip column and one of them finds out." [anonymous]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First off, thank you to @sdwolfpup for the original post. I hope you all enjoy this!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>Lord Jaime Lannister yawned as he descended the grand staircase of their King’s Landing townhouse. Unlike, perhaps, his fellow gentry, Jaime greeted his household rather <em>ruffled. </em>There was no tailored coat; no cravat. Just a loose waistcoat with a missing button (that the seamstress could thank Lady Lannister for) and a plain white shirt and breeches. At the bottom of the staircase, Jaime’s man Peckledon gave him a firm nod. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“My Lord. This arrived for the household.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A pamphlet from <em>Lady Stoneheart </em>was pressed into Jaime’s hands. A quick scan revealed it to be full of gossip about the recent marriage season, including the Starks’ grand soiree the night before. Peckledon awaited his orders. “Would you like me to discard it for you, Ser?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not at all, thank you, Peck. I’ll read it over breakfast.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He was especially eager to read the story entitled <em>Lame Lions Land in Town. </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Walking through the townhouse, Jaime skimmed a few sections while greeting the handful of staff they had travelled with. Neither he nor Brienne liked people underfoot, and the girls were happy with one handmaiden between them. It was mostly Joanna who liked to be dressed and have her hair done each morning. Catelyn was happy to have hers in a simple braid, and Elinor barely dragged a brush through hers. Between Peck, Podrick, and Pia, their household was a slim one. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Still, there was a plate of toast with jam at the breakfast table when he sat down to read the <em>Lady Stoneheart </em>pamphlet. </p>
</div><blockquote class="">
  <p>
    <strong>LAME LIONS LAND IN TOWN</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><blockquote class="">
  <p>
    <em>As usual, House Lannister was the talk of the Ton. First of all, the recently widowed Lady Baratheon made an appearance in a dress of red silk; her mourning clothes – and days – long behind her. Her son, Lord Joffrey Baratheon, also made his return to the hunting season after last year’s ‘trouble’. The girl, I’m told, has retreated to the country after her ordeal. His younger brother, Lord Tommen, might have a better chance as he is often considered the light to his older sibling’s darkness. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><blockquote class="">
  <p><em>Speaking of contrasting siblings, Lady Baratheon’s twin brother, Lord Jaime Lannister, made a </em>rare <em>appearance last night alongside his wife and three daughters. His last appearance in King’s Landing society was over twenty years ago, where he tied himself to the then Lady Tarth. A curious young woman, Lady Tarth had made previous suitors duel with fencing swords for the honours of her hand and her father’s considerable fortune. After their wedding – which was the height of the marriage season – the newlyweds disappeared into the ether. </em></p>
</blockquote><blockquote class="">
  <p>
    <em>It has been whispered, however, that Lord Tywin, the Westerlands representative in the High Council, was dismayed to have three granddaughters rather than the expected sons. Lady Catelyn Lannister, who is due to inherit Casterly Rock and her grandfather’s seat upon the Council, is said to be as eccentric as her mother – a rumour proven to be true with her arrival in breeches at the Starks’ soiree. Rumours abounded of Lady Elinor, too, whose dark-blonde hair is almost reminiscent of Lord Renly Baratheon. Those who can remember the season twenty years ago can also remember he was one of Lady Tarth’s few suitors. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><blockquote class="">
  <p><em>It is only Lady Joanna Lannister, who shares the temperament as well as the name of her grandmother, that shone. Pretty and polite, I imagine she will spend today with </em>many <em>a suitor. </em></p>
</blockquote><div class="">
  <p>Jaime put down the pamphlet and reached for his cup of tea. Leaning back in his chair, he could see through into the garden where his wife and eldest daughter were practising with their fencing sabres. His youngest, Joanna, was <em>not </em>daydreaming of suitors. Instead, she was reading <em>Florian and Jonquil </em>for the hundredth time: suitors in the old stories more proper than the cads she had danced with at the Stark ball. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Glancing up, he was greeted by Elinor. “Good morning, Little Moon.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Morning, Father. What’s–what’s that?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime raised a single eyebrow. “Do you remember when your sister ran out of stories to read, and you wrote her ones from your own imagination instead?” Elinor nodded. “They were very good. I’m not a scholarly man, Elinor. But I can recognise my daughter’s voice.” Elinor froze in place. Jaime let out a laugh. “I imagine your Aunt is tearing her hair out right now.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Elinor giggled and joined Jaime at the breakfast table. “Serves her right.” Her face then fell. “Joffrey too. What he did to that poor girl—” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—I know.” It was the sole reason they had left Tarth and returned to the city. His father had thought their arrival would distract the Ton from rumours over Robert Baratheon’s death and that poor girl’s maiming. Elinor’s pamphlet had done the opposite, although she’d added a rumour to get the tongues wagging. “But you? Renly Baratheon’s daughter? <em>Please. </em>You’re the only one of my girls who looks remotely like me.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not true. Cat has your smile; Joanna has your nose.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Poor girl." All his girls had been born with Tarth blonde hair and blue eyes. But, as Elinor had grown older, her hair had grown as dark as his. Between that and the sharp wit, she was <em>definitely </em>a Lannister. "Anyway, Sweetling, if you need any gossip for future editions, let me or your Uncle know. He’s been <em>dying </em>to share gossip about the Ton for <em>years.”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Elinor beamed. “Good to know.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Just then, the rest of his girls descended upon the breakfast table. Brienne, sweaty from a bout in the garden, pressed an eager kiss to the corner of his mouth. Catelyn kicked off her muddy boots, braid already askew, and wolfed down the bowl of porridge placed in front of her. Joanna, a sunflower tucked behind her ear, sipped tea and read the <em>Lady Stoneheart </em>pamphlet over Jaime’s shoulder. It took them just as long as Jaime to deduce the author and equally long to share stories for the next edition. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When Joanna’s first suitor arrived, the family were in such good spirits, she told him to come back another time. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. "Gentleman Caller" [A suitor arrives for one of Jaime and Brienne's daughters; Regency AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Oh please do the Regency Jaime has three daughters fic!" [sdwolfpup]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all, thank you SO MUCH for your original post: it was so inspiring! Secondly, this is a follow-up to the previous chapter in this collection; I hope you enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>The first gentleman caller the Lannister house accepted was shortly before midday. Two others had come much earlier, but Peckledon had dismissed them both to return at a more...<em>appropriate </em>time. When questioned when would be more appropriate to call upon Lord Lannister’s youngest daughter, Peckledon had merely said, “After Lord Lannister is served his toast and jam, but before Lady Lannister begins polishing her foils.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne did not expect either of them to return. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But a third caller had risked the ire of King’s Landing’s most recent addition to high society and called upon the household shortly before they were to break for lunch. A frown had drawn across her husband’s pleasant features; his gaze straying to the grandfather clock in the corner. “Does he know what time it is?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I believe he does, my Lord.” Peck’s mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. “Lady Brienne has yet to begin polishing her foils.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Bending his head backward over the chaise lounge to address their youngest, Jaime asked: “Jo, did you want a caller?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Before she could respond, Peckledon interrupted. “Apologies, my Lord. The caller is not for Lady Joanna. It is for Lady Catelyn.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Four heads twisted to the young woman in the corner. Catelyn was currently polishing an antique set of duelling pistols she had been given by her maternal grandfather. Brienne tried desperately not to smile at the sight of her eldest, wearing breeches and suspenders with her Tarth-blonde hair barely contained in a braid, removing tarnish off the barrel of a gun. So consumed was she in her work that Elinor had to throw a pencil at her head to gain her attention.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oi! What was that for?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You have a <em>gentleman caller</em>,” Elinor teased, abandoning the book she had stolen from a recent visit to the Citadel and pinched her older sister’s cheek. “We need to make you more presentable.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joanna lifted her head. “You could wear one of my gowns!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not likely.” Catelyn wiped her hands clean of polish with a nearby rag. “Peckledon, if he wishes to call upon me, he may. He should know what he’s getting – other than the coffers of Casterly Rock, of course.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As Peckledon returned to the house’s first caller, the sitting room was a flurry of commotion. Jaime and Elinor ensured that the duelling pistols were on full display, as were the foils, sabres and epees that Brienne and Catelyn duelled with daily. Joanna made sure her grandfather’s portrait was hanging straight above the fireplace: Tywin Lannister’s cold, calculating glare would intimidate even the hardiest of suitors. Brienne just squeezed Catelyn’s hand, her own emotions bubbling to the surface. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Twenty years ago, that had been her. Twenty years ago, she had sat and entertained a trickle of men who had wanted her fortune and her potential for bearing sons. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“There! Looks <em>perfect.” </em>Her husband offered a smile across the room. He required none of her fortune. Had no issue with Brienne giving birth to three girls. Jaime had welcomed every part of her were so many others had not.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Lord and Lady Lannister, might I present Randyll Connington, son of Ser Ronnet Connington of Griffin’s Roost.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>In swept a young man who was the very <em>picture </em>of his father. Brienne froze, suddenly transported to her own season and one of her first suitors. While other girls had been laden with gifts – bouquets of flowers, boxes of expensive Lys chocolates, jewels from mines across the sea – Ronnet Connington had given her a single red rose. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Now his son had brought an entire bouquet for his daughter. “Lord and Lady Lannister, it is a pleasure to be welcomed into your home. I believe you know my father?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime answered before Brienne could. “Yes, I believe we’ve met.” He squeezed his hand once or twice; all three of their girls struggling to hold back their laughter. “How is he?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Randyll paled. “His jaw still clicks in the cold weather, my Lord.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I believe you are here to pay visit to our eldest?” Brienne interjected before Jaime could relieve the events at Queen Rhaella’s summer soiree. “Lady Catelyn will one day inherit Casterly Rock.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Having been introduced to the daughter sat in the middle of the settee, Randyll’s gaze followed the lines of Catelyn’s form. The men’s breeches, the crimson suspenders, the white shirt with a smudge of grime and polish above the breast. On Tarth, Cat would often wear a coat bearing the island’s coat of arms and a scarlet cravat that Joanna had sewn herself. She was as big and as brave as Brienne had been during her very first season, only there was no necessity from either her or Jaime for Cat to find a husband. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And certainly not this one. “Forgive me; I can return if Lady Catelyn would like some time to prepare for my arrival.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Would you be any more interesting with more preparation, Ser?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Randyll Connington flushed from his weak chin to the roots of his grease-slicked hair. “My father is an anointed knight.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“My grandfather is <em>Tywin Lannister.” </em>Lifting her feet to rest upon the table in front of the settee, Catelyn retrieved a small blade from her back pocket and began the process of peeling an apple. She pierced a wedge and offered it to Elinor. “I know what <em>I </em>would bring to our union. Fortune, power—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—good looks,” Elinor offered between a mouthful of fruit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—exactly.” Catelyn offered a slice to Joanna. “So tell me, <em>Mister </em>Connington, why should I consider your proposal?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He huffed, air blowing through his nostrils as if he were a tea kettle. “The <em>fact </em>that I am even <em>here </em>offering you my hand should be enough!” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was at that point that Brienne rose from her seat. When she had met Randyll’s father in a sitting room not nearly as grand as this one, she had been stuffed into an ill-fitting pink gown and forced to beg for the scraps offered by lesser men. Brienne of Tarth had not settled, and Catelyn Lannister of Tarth would not either. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mister Connington, my daughter is a <em>Lannister. </em>Heir to the Rock. She will make matches with Starks and Martells; Baratheons and Tullys. She does not need to waste her time on <em>you. </em>She is also a Tarth. Which means she has the skill and speed to <em>stab you </em>with a foil before you’ve barely acknowledged that she’s moved. I would bid good day to you. Blood is <em>awfully </em>difficult to get out of this rug.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As all colour drained from his face, Peckledon steered Randyll Connington out of the room. Drawing in a satisfied breath, Brienne returned to the settee and took Catelyn’s last slice of apple. On the other side, with their three daughters wedged between them, Jaime beamed. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. "Meet the Family" [Actors Jaime and Brienne do an interview with their girls; Modern AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"idk what sahd means but jb having only daughters modern au</p><p>yes I prompted all 3 of them no I have no regrets" [remuslovestonks]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Aaaah thank you so much for prompting! SAHD = stay at home dad. I did intend to write that version but felt it was too much like my Modern Lion Pride. So I decided to do this idea with twist. I hope you enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>“Do we <em>really </em>have to do this, Uncle?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m afraid so,” Tyrion said, adjusting Joanna’s collar before lamenting at the state of Catelyn; all grass stains and bloody knees. “Dearest niece, why don’t you go upstairs and get changed? Maybe into a nice—” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was at that point that Jaime intervened. He was already annoyed with his brother interrupting their carefully cultivated Sunday plans (chocolate crepes, two-aside in the garden, before a seafood barbecue) for this <em>ridiculous </em>video interview. But with the upcoming reboot of <em>Harrenhal High, </em>Tyrion had thought that a little extra press about Jaime and Brienne’s family would give them and the show a boost. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Not that he or Brienne thought they needed more attention. They had received more than their fair share since he and the girls had joined Brienne on the red carpet for her latest feature. “Tyrion, Cat is <em>fine.” </em>He turned to his eldest. “You look <em>great.” </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The crew is here now, anyway.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne’s hand slipped inside his left and squeezed; Jaime instantly biting back the comment that Tyrion was far too much like their father than he realised. Unlike Tyrion, Jaime was a good brother, which was why he, his wife of twenty years, and their three girls were lined up outside their Tarth home to meet with Melara Hetherspoon and her crew. She was petite and pretty, with curly dark hair and a smile that was as bloodthirsty as most entertainment reporters Jaime had met over the years. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Instantly, the camera was rolling. “Jaime, good to see you.” She pressed her lips to his cheek in a kiss; pink lipstick staining his skin long after she’d moved away. “I don’t know whether you remember, but I had a three-episode guest arc on <em>Harrenhal High.” </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I do!” He said politely. His enthusiasm and blatant fib brought Elinor into stifled laughter; her eldest sister elbowing her in the ribs out of decorum. “You obviously know Brienne, as well.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No kiss this time. Not for his co-star, best friend, and wife. “Of course, Brienne, so lovely to see you again.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And you.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Shall we? I am <em>dying </em>to see where you’ve been keeping yourself all these years!” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Together, the medley of Lannisters and press trundled into the large seafront property that Jaime and Brienne had bought shortly after Catelyn’s birth. The lounge area was fitted with panoramic windows that opened out onto the ocean; a stack of board games for their Sunday afternoon laid atop the coffee table. Melara’s camera crew got everything: from the rarely seen photographs of their small wedding to picture after picture of their girls.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A pot of tea and a plate of lemon curd biscuits were already laid out. The five of them sat in shot; ten-year-old Joanna burying herself into Jaime’s side while the other two girls sat with their mother. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Please, help yourself,” Jaime said, waiting until Melara had poured herself a cup of tea before helping himself to a biscuit. Elinor grabbed one, too; crumbs spraying down the front of her button-down. Behind the camera, Tyrion groaned. “They’re Brienne’s father’s secret recipe. Delicious but crumbly.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But Melara wasn’t here for biscuits. “So. Jaime Lannister. Star of <em>Harrenhal High. </em>You were well-known for being a heartthrob back then. I can see somethings have not changed.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime did not miss the amused looks exchanged between Elinor and Catelyn. He did, however, miss whatever look his wife was throwing him, although no doubt he would be informed of it later; teased mercilessly over his <em>hunk </em>status. “I was on the cover of a few teen magazines.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The front of <em>Rose Magazine </em>for eleven straight editions! I, <em>uh, </em>I still have eight of them.” Melara fiddled with her collar. “You played Jay Hill, the resident bad boy of <em>Harrenhal High </em>who was always flirting with Jeyne Rivers, the school’s most virtuous student.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beside him, Catelyn snorted. “Gods, what a cliché.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I mean, <em>seriously!” </em>Elinor scoffed, joining in her sister’s critique. “Who did you play, Mum? The top athlete who suffers from a trope-heavy literacy problem?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne <em>had, </em>in fact, played Alys Storm: head of the girl’s football team and owner of an unrequited crush on drama geek Petyr Waters. Brienne’s own crush on Waters’ actor, Renly Baratheon, had been well-documented on set, and the writers had quickly moved on to pairing Jay and Alys in school shenanigans. They had played best friends on the show and in real life for four years. Alys had been Jay’s best woman when he had married Jeyne in a college special. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Talking about the show, do you ever see Catelyn Tully at all?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Aunt Cat?” Joanna piped up, answering Melara’s question. “We see her on Dash once a week, and we visit her and Uncle Ned before Sevenmas.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime grinned. “Cat was a great friend to Brienne and me. We actually named our eldest after her. She’s amazing; both Brienne and I are sad she won’t be joining us for the reboot.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The reboot of <em>Harrenhal High; </em>such exciting news! Your return to television after being away for so, <em>so </em>long. Your last project was <em>The Kingsguard, </em>I believe.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime stiffened. Joanna felt him freeze beside her and wrapped two arms around his middle; her blonde hair brushing his shoulder. Elinor squeezed his hand, although it was the other one that was damaged. <em>A horrible accident, </em>the press had called it. <em>A terrible tragedy. </em>In a split second, he had gone from the paparazzi getting shots of him with dates to them sneaking into his physical therapy sessions. All because of some cunts who didn’t care for being talked down to by the talent. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t–I don’t really want to talk about <em>The Kingsguard.” </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But it was your last television project. Your last <em>major </em>project; the few screen credits you’ve racked up in the last twenty years have been from bit parts in dramatic movies or voiceover work. I <em>mean, </em>you were <em>Jaime Lannister. </em>And then you just disappeared.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Catelyn shifted forward; both hands clutching her bare knees. “He still <em>is </em>Jaime Lannister.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, Sweetling, I <em>know, </em>but you have to understand he was on top of the world! Any movie, any show, any <em>girl. </em>Then he just ups and disappears. Hells, no one even <em>knew </em>about you three until two moons ago!” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Rather than grow upset, his daughters – lions, each and every one of them – went for the kill. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And that <em>really </em>upsets you, doesn’t it?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I mean, as a <em>journalist</em>—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—if you can call yourself a journalist; reporter may have been more accurate—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—the whole <em>profession </em>missed that <em>Jaime Lannister </em>not only was <em>married </em>but had not one—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—not two—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—but three of us!” finished Joanna, raising three fingers to the camera. “You must be really annoyed with yourself.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Before the lions could circle their prey any further, Brienne took charge of the interview. “We are <em>really </em>excited to be taking part in this reboot. We love the show, and we both felt, now that the girls are older, we could step back into the limelight. It can be <em>so </em>difficult with intrusive press. But not with you.” Brienne bared her teeth. “We welcomed you into our home to show you our family.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Buoyed by the support of his wife and daughters, Jaime rose to his feet. “Come on, Melara. Why don’t we show you the rest of the house?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tyrion, no doubt already on the phone with Melara’s producers, gave Jaime a supportive nod as they showed the camera crew round their home. They told stories of family dinners and baking exploits. Joanna showed Melara her dollhouse (well, doll castle) and all the Age of Dragon-era dresses she had sewn herself. Elinor went through the stack of books on her shelves and even allowed Melara to try out her hammock – and did not laugh when she fell out of it. Cat’s room was wallpapered with Tarth FC posters and a framed strip from the first team to allow women players. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When it aired a week later, the segment about <em>The Kingsguard </em>was cut. There were, however, lots of shots of Jaime and Brienne and their girls looking like the picture-perfect family they really were. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. "Family Dinner" [Jaime, Brienne, and their daughters join King Joffrey for dinner; Canon AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"ok jb having only daughters for canon timeline" [remuslovestonks]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for the prompt! This will have officially covered all three of the Jaime-has-all-daughters ideas – but I am open to follow-ups!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>Lady Brienne Lannister cared little for King’s Landing. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was overbearing, loud, and the smell of the Blackwater permeated the air. The King’s Court was rude; the King himself a monster. Brienne supposed she should show <em>some </em>affection for her nephew – if he hadn’t gone to war against half the Kingdom. Brienne had longed to fight: for Renly, for Catelyn, for <em>something. </em>But her husband had given a rare order for her to remain on Tarth. <em>I don’t like this any more than you do, but when it comes to this war, our family comes first. </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He did not mean House Lannister. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But now they had left Tarth after all; a raven sent bearing the words of Tywin Lannister summoning his son and heir to King’s Landing. Brienne and their girls had joined him; none of them sure what they would find in the capital. It had been three days since their arrival, and so far, her good-sister had been cruel, the Court had been unkind, and the King had displayed more madness at his age than even the Mad King had shown. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Gods only know what he’ll be like when he’s older,” Jaime spat as they traversed the corridors of King’s Landing. Brienne clung tighter to his arm. “If I was his Kingsguard—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—you’re not, Jaime. And if your sister is half as smart as she thinks she is, she’ll have stacked the Kingsguard with men loyal to his ideals. Brutes and monsters; every one.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>That gave her husband little comfort. She could see the worry etched into his features; the fear clouding his gaze. More than once he looked back at their girls: Catelyn almost as tall as Jaime; Elinor with her nose in a book; Joanna smiling at everyone who walked past. Jaime feared for them, as did Brienne. The capital chewed and spat out little girls. The fates of Sansa and Arya Stark plagued her constantly. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Can’t we have dinner in our rooms?” Elinor piped up as they approached their destination. “I want to finish this chapter.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’ll have to do it later, Elinor.” Jaime halted; allowing Brienne’s arm to fall from his own to take his daughter’s instead. “And don’t roll your eyes in front of your grandfather. He hates that.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He hates <em>us,” </em>Catelyn said, eyeing the Kingsguard on the door warily. “They all do.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne lifted her chin as they approached Ser Meryn on the door; only Lady Joanna shorter than he. He sneered as they approached. Brienne’s gaze turned to her husband as she watched him take in Ser Meryn’s golden armour and soiled cloak. He shook his head but did not say a word. Nor did any of their girls. Brienne, however, lingered. The last time they had visited King’s Landing, Brienne had taken part in King Robert’s nameday tourney. She had defeated Ser Meryn easily in the melee. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ser Meryn.” Judging from his scowl, he had not forgotten.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Inside was an assembly of Houses Lannister, Baratheon, Tyrell, and Tarth. At the head of the table was a seat for King Joffrey; by his side, a place for his mother and grandfather. Joining them for dinner was his intended, Margaery Tyrell, and her brother, Ser Loras. Tyrion was already into his cups and discussing Elinor’s new book with her. Joanna was talking to her cousin, Prince Tommen, and Jaime was staring defeatedly at the head of the table. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Suddenly, the doors at the opposite end opened and in swan the King, followed by his mother and grandfather. “Apologies, everyone; the Small Council meeting ran late. Lady Margaery, welcome. Uncles, Aunt, <em>dearest </em>cousins: thank you so much for joining me for dinner.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Like we had a choice,” Catelyn muttered as the assembled party sat down. Brienne threw her daughter a warning glare; thankfully, they were too far away from the head of the table for Joffrey to hear. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Cersei took charge of the conversation while Joffrey made eyes at his bride. “Brother, good-sister, it is <em>wonderful </em>to have you back in the capital. It’s been <em>far </em>too long. I <em>had</em> hoped you would return with another babe. I know how dearly my brother has longed for a son.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime adopted a curious look upon his face before turning to Brienne and scratching his head. “Have I? I don’t remember that.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne nudged his leg with her foot. “We cannot all be as blessed as you, Your Grace.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Of course. You know,” Cersei began as she took her goblet before the servant had even finished pouring, “It is times like these that I am reminded of Prince Rhaegar. Setting aside your wife to have more children – he set a <em>dangerous </em>precedent.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Kidnapping, rape, false imprisonment. A <em>very </em>dangerous precedent indeed, dear Aunt.” Cersei’s eyes swivelled towards her niece; Catelyn’s blue eyes shining in the candlelight. “Thank the Gods he was punished for his crimes.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Elinor, as she often did, joined in her sister’s game. “By your father, of course, Your Grace. The great King Robert. You must be so proud to have him as your father.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joffrey paused, merely nodding; nothing but a little boy playing King while his cousins were ready to tear his mother apart. “I am.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You, of all people, would join your father in standing against men who would <em>cast aside </em>their wives—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—a wife who <em>had, </em>in fact, bore a son—” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—and maintain the laws kept <em>sacred </em>by you and the Seven.” Elinor sagged against her chair. That the Citadel would never allow her entry was a crime in and of itself. “You are a great king, Your Grace.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joffrey, buoyed by his cousins’ compliments, puffed out his meagre chest and nodded. “I am. As was my father. There will be no more talk of <em>setting aside wives. </em>We are better than the Targaryens. Much better.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>After that, conversation fell away. They were quickly served their first course; Tyrell pears and apples roasted in honey. Ser Loras and Catelyn discussed the prospect of a tournament to celebrate his sister’s marriage; Elinor wanted to hear, in detail, of her Uncle’s trip to the Wall. Joanna and Jaime plotted a visit into town so she could see the stalls offering fabric for a new dress. Brienne sliced through her pear and ate thoughtfully, catching her good-father’s eye on more than one occasion. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As the dishes were cleared away, and the Queen Regent on her third cup of wine, the topic of Jaime’s heirs was once again raised. “I find it such a shame that, if something were to happen to you, dearest Brother, that Casterly Rock would go to one of Uncle Kevan’s sons.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Surely,” Lady Margaery began, “Casterly Rock could fall to Ser Jaime’s grandson.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“My nieces are not yet wed. My brother has no children to speak of. Lancel will inherit the Rock.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>Nonsense.” </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was the first time Lord Tywin had spoken all evening. His tone made the King flinch; the simple act drawing a smile from all three of Brienne’s daughters. She, herself, stiffened under Tywin’s stare. Fear clenched at her stomach. Despite Joffrey’s forced assertions otherwise, her girls – Brienne herself – could be set aside. It would not be the first time Lord Tywin had tried to tempt Jaime with a younger, prettier, <em>shorter </em>maiden. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The King has recently signed into order an act that the eldest child, regardless of gender, will inherit. This will, of course, only apply to children who were born in the reign of King Robert and beyond.” Thus excluding Cersei and Tommen from the Rock. “Catelyn will inherit the Rock as Jaime’s firstborn.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Cersei slammed down her goblet. Joffrey looked confused. Or constipated. It was hard to tell. “Grandfather, I don’t remember signing that.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Of course you do.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And that was it. Catelyn – breeches wearing, sword-wielding, named after Lady Stark Catelyn – would inherit Casterly Rock. When dinner was concluded and their family had retreated to their chambers, Brienne slept easier for the first time since the war had begun.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. "Nuggets" [Food critic Jaime Lannister attends a children's nameday party with his daughter; Modern AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"FEARLESS: Jaime-has-all-girls AU" [remuslovestonks]</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>A children’s nameday party was not exactly how Jaime Lannister had envisioned spending his afternoon off. He had hoped to catch up on a historical documentary or two with his beloved wife while Grandfather took their girls for an educational trip to the King’s Landing Stock Exchange. However, in a move that no one saw coming, Tywin Lannister was struck down by the flu. Hence why he and Brienne’s afternoon off evaporated, and Jaime was left taking his middle daughter to a six-year-old’s nameday party. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Remind me again who’s party this is?” Jaime asked Elinor as they walked along to the townhouse where the party was being held. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Jeyne. She’s the most popular girl in my form class.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I see. Is she nice to you?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Elinor just shrugged. “I’m a Lannister. Everyone’s nice to me.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime nodded along, unable to argue with that logic. His position had opened a lot of doors for him – and certainly stopped more than a few chefs taking a swing when Jaime said something they didn’t like in his reviews. Brienne’s semi-recent Lannister status had helped her, too. Banks that hadn’t wanted to offer a loan to a young sous chef tired of being treated like crap were now <em>desperate </em>to give her money. Patrons who had looked down on her when she had worked for Baratheon or Tarly were now <em>begging </em>her to visit their table. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But unlike most Lannisters, Brienne – and their girls – didn’t let the attention go to their heads. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Jaime!” A woman standing on a small set of stone steps laden with balloons caught sight of them and began waving both arms. “Elinor! I’m so glad you could make it!” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He drew in a sharp breath and turned to his daughter for confirmation. “Jeyne’s Mum?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yep. You met her at Cat’s five-a-side game last month. She’s the one with the red lipstick.” Jaime automatically began rubbing at his cheek. That stuff had been dreadful to get off. “Good luck.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime frowned down at his daughter, but the girl quickly ducked away from Jeyne’s Mum and headed into the party. He was not so lucky. Smothered in a tight embrace, Jaime felt the press of her sticky mouth to his cheek – far too close to his own for comfort. As he pulled away, her hands strayed to his chest and fiddled with the buttons of his white shirt. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Best not get anything on this or your wife will think we’re having an affair!” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She laughed. Jaime joined in; his chuckle strained. “No, no, she won’t think that. Brienne knows that the only way to my heart is being a decent cook.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jeyne’s Mum’s face became deadly serious. “You should try my nuggets.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Before he could respond, Jeyne’s Mum was called inside. He reluctantly trailed after her. Immediately, Jaime caught the eye of the rest of the mothers in Elinor’s class. They began salivating as if he was an especially rare cut of prime rib, smothered in butter and garlic. One actually licked their lips; another’s teeth sunk down as if desperate to take a bite out of him. Jaime knew that he would be pawed and prodded; innuendos flying through the air as if the right combination of words would unleash the lion within. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So Jaime did what he always did at these sort of events. Find the quietest room and <em>hide. </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>In this case, that room was Jeyne’s younger brother’s bedroom. He sat cross-legged on a motorway playmat, reading children’s books about Goldenhand the Just. After a while, the door creaked open and Elinor slipped in with two paper plates of party food. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Here. I thought you might be hungry.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you.” Jaime took the offered plate and took a bite out of Jeyne’s Mum’s nuggets. He immediately spat it back into the princess napkin accompanying his paper plate. “Disgusting. The meat is processed and the breaded coating is all mush.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The mini pizza isn’t any better.” Elinor examined her plate. “The cheese is con–con—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—congealed—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—congealed and there’s not enough sauce. The sandwiches aren’t good either. The bread is dry.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime poked at a ham sandwich. “What selection did they have?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Elinor listed them on her fingers. “Ham, cheese, jam, peanut butter, and tuna. No roast chicken. No beef and horseradish. Definitely no wild boar.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Disappointing.” Jaime looked at one of the fairy cakes on his paper plate. He took a swipe through the icing and gagged. “Far too sweet. Too much candy floss flavouring as well.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Do better, Jeyne’s Mum.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, not every kid has a Jaqen-Star chef as a Mum. But we’ll swing by the restaurant on the way home and pick up some decent food.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Elinor grinned. Jaime gave his daughter a one-armed hug before she got up to re-join her friends. He waited out the rest of the party in the child’s bedroom, playing with the toy cars on the playmat. As the kids and parents began singing <em>Happy Nameday, </em>Jaime slipped into the throng and found his daughter. Together, they headed out and went in search of some real food. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. "Consequences" [Jaime is reunited with Brienne post 8.06; Canon Fix-It]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"WE WERE HAPPY for the promptathon?" [anonymous]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WE WERE HAPPY: GOT Fix-It</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>Jaime was watching the last wisps of smoke rise above the city of King’s Landing and disappear into the sky when the door to his cell opened. For some it was a bedchamber – there was a bed and a chamberpot; tapestries upon the wall and a view above the clouds – but Jaime was under no illusions that this <em>was </em>his cell. He had supported Cersei in the last days of her reign; had stood against the Dragon Queen and here he was. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Are you here to finally kill me?” he asked, his gaze permanently fixed to a spot in Blackwater Bay. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Why would I do that, when you do such an <em>excellent </em>job of doing it yourself?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He swallowed harshly; his fingers tightening on the sill. Yet, he did not look back. “Ser Brienne of Tarth. I hadn’t expected—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—to see me again?” Her sharp intake of breath was the only noise in the room. “I suppose you still haven’t.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>At that, Jaime did turn around. This time it was <em>he</em> who was momentarily unable to breathe. Her hair was longer than he had ever seen it; the weeks he had spent convalescing after his injuries during the fall changing her so very much. Gone was the blue armour he had commissioned for her – she’d probably had it destroyed. Melted down in a forge; given away to some Northern lout. But her eyes were still the ever-familiar shade of blue. And upon her hip was an ever-familiar blade. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re still carrying Oathkeeper. I–I thought—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—this sword is more than the man who gave it to me.” Brienne’s fingers flexed around the hilt; her jaw jutting forward “It’s mine. That’s what you said. If you want it—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—I don’t, Brienne. I really don’t.” He sighed and crossed over to the bed, drawing in breath after breath from the simple act of walking back from the window. His lungs had not yet recovered from the damage sustained during his escape from the Red Keep. It was a particularly unique brand of cruelty to spend weeks allowing him to regain his health only to execute him in the end. “It’s good to see you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Is it.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re angry.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Don’t tell me how I feel.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne turned from him and paced a stretch along the wall. Jaime just watched. Her tunic was free of rips and holes; the Tarth sigil embroidered upon her breast. Even her boots were polished well enough that Jaime could see his drawn complexion in them. <em>The wonders of peacetime. </em>Dented armour would be reforged; new garments shipped from across the sea. New banners – the old black and red – would resume above the battlements. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>After Brienne had worn a hole in the stone floor of his cell, she turned to him. “How much do you know of what occurred since your return to the city?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Cersei’s dead,” he said bluntly. “I saw her when I...when I regained consciousness in the rubble. I know Tyrion and the others thought me dead.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And Daenerys Targaryen? </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime shrugged. “I assumed she was waiting until I was better before burning me to death.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Unlikely, considering Jon Snow killed her soon after she took the city.” Upon his wide-eyed expression, Brienne offered a single nod before ploughing on. “All the great houses were called. Your brother attempted to put Bran Stark on the throne. The others disagreed.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Good,” Jaime said adamantly. “He’s no king. Barely a man, and an odd one at that. At this rate, they should just melt the damn thing.” Seeing something in Brienne’s eyes, Jaime began to laugh. “They <em>are </em>melting the damn thing.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The North wanted independence. As did Dorne and the Iron Islands. By the end of it, it was decided the Seven Kingdoms would regain their sovereignty. Sansa will rule the North—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“—and you, her Lord Commander. Is that why you’re here, Brienne? To get advice about throwing your life away standing outside doorways?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>No,” </em>she spat. “I am here to inform you, Ser Jaime Lannister, that you have been ordered by the King of the Westerlands, Tyrion Lannister, first of his name, that you shall marry the Queen of the Stormlands.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The Queen of the–<em>you. I’m to marry you</em>.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Once, in a soft fire-lit room back in Winterfell, the idea might have given them both joy. But Jaime had no desire to take a wife; he merely desired the Stranger to take him. He had expected to die in Winterfell. He had expected to die here, too – albeit one death more honourable than the other. He had neither the temperament nor ability to be a husband or father. Not really. Not properly. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Swallowing, Jaime began to dissuade her of this notion. “Brienne—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She merely raised a hand. “Do not waste your breath. There were consequences to what we did in Winterfell. Consequences that did not matter at the time because we both believed that you would...<em>allow </em>yourself to be happy, to be loved. Your brother may have joked about it that night but my virtue is not something to be taken lightly.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His heart sank. “But I took it.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You did. So you’ll wed me. You will be Prince Consort of the Stormlands and the father of the future King.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Brienne, you deserve more.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She nodded. “I know. And yet, I am stuck with a man who would rather die than live with me.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>That’s not fair.</em>” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Isn’t it?” Her fingertips rested upon the lion pommel. “Maester Tarly believes you are fit to travel. We will leave for Tarth in three days.” Her lips quirked in a faint hint of a smile. “Once again, Ser Jaime, it appears you are my prisoner. And, once again, if I hadn’t intervened they would have killed you.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne swept from the room. Jaime sat, dumbfounded at the future that lay ahead of him. If he was to be in a cell, the halls of Evenfall Hall and the plentiful sea air would be finer than most. If he was to have a jailor, Brienne of Tarth had proved herself time and again to be fair and just. If he was to live, then to live by her side would be more than he deserved. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>For a moment, he allowed himself to smile. To live a full life might be the greatest challenge of them all. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. "Showrunner" [The writer's room at 'Oathkeeper' gets a shake up; Modern AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Superstar" [anonymous]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>SUPERSTAR: Actor/Celebrity AU</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>When Brienne arrived at the production offices of <em>Oathkeeper </em>that morning, it was as if a group of White Walkers had been spotted on the horizon. Staffers were fielding call after call; production assistants were sprinting through the corridors. Brienne’s tea nearly went flying as one of the runners, a young lad named Podrick, nearly barrelled into her. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“S–sorry, Ms Tarth. It’s–it’s <em>mayhem </em>today<em>.”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So I can see, Pod. What’s happened?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His eyes went wide. “You haven’t heard? Tarly’s been sacked. They’re bringing in a replacement.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>With that bombshell, the young lad returned to his quest. As her heart sunk into her stomach, Brienne made her way through the labyrinth of offices towards her own cubicle. Her wall-mate, Hyle Hunt, was griping over the sudden change in showrunner. But, then, he had been good friends with Randyll Tarly. He and the other male writers went out every Friday night while Brienne was often left picking up continuity issues in their scripts or fielding complaints from the higher-ups that Tarly didn’t want to deal with. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne was <em>not </em>upset to see the back of him. She was, however, concerned to see the front of the new showrunner. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“TARTH. WRITER’S ROOM, FIVE MINUTES.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Putting down her tea and last season’s scripts, Brienne merely nodded at Connington. Four minutes later, she was joining the rest of the writers – all-male, all wankers – in the writer’s room. Today they had meant to begin planning season three of <em>Oathkeeper, </em>which had gained some traction over the summer. Now – now who knew <em>what </em>they would be doing. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne took a seat at the farthest end of the conference table while Hyle, Ed, Ben, and Ron Connington filtered through. Hyle was the first to speak. “So, do we know who they’re bringing in yet?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Connington scoffed. “Probably a woman. The network probably want us to appear ‘diverse’.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We’ve got Tarth for that.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Tarth doesn’t count.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Brienne refused to rise to their bait. She had, in the early days. She’d gone to Tarly’s office after work and pled her case more evenings than she could count. But he hadn’t listened. Had, in fact, insinuated that if she continued to complain she would be out on her ear. And Brienne <em>needed </em>this job. More so, she <em>wanted </em>this job. She loathed to think what Lady Alys, based off the great Ser Brienne of Tarth (a <em>very </em>distant relation) would become when left to these troglodytes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They were still making guesses as to who their new showrunner would be, each more offensive than the last. Brienne caught the tail-end of Hyle’s suggestion: “I bet he’s some snot-nosed kid whose daddy got him the job.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Actually, my father would prefer I worked in the King’s Landing Stock Exchange than in television.” A smooth, silk voice cut through the chatter. Brienne lifted her head to see the most beautiful man she had ever seen. “Jaime Lannister. <em>Ser </em>Jaime Lannister, actually.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The writer’s room went quiet in the presence of their new showrunner. <em>Gods, </em>Jaime Lannister was a <em>legend </em>in cinema. He had produced some of the greatest historical epics, earning himself three Dayne awards and a knighthood for honours in filmmaking. He also had a reputation for being difficult to work with. If he liked you, you would have a career spanning decades. If you crossed him, the closest career in film you’d get is taking tickets at the local multiplex. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her shoulders sagged. At least she enjoyed the smell of popcorn. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lannister took a seat at the head of the conference table and leaned back, assessing his new writers. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, Randyll Tarly is no longer with the show.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He was a great showrunner,” Connington offered. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He was a dick who had multiple allegations made against him and had a history of covering up complaints from female staffers. He will <em>not </em>be missed.” Lannister smiled at them; his teeth bared. “You should all be happy to know that I’m a <em>great </em>fan of the show. <em>Well, </em>the source material. I have all the books; read them cover to cover.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ben shrank in his chair. “We’re–we’re trying to tell our own version.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lannister nodded. “That I can see. The actress playing Queen Cerelle. Has she read the books?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, we—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He raised a well-manicured hand, cutting Ben off at the knees. “Get her copies of the books. I want her to have read them cover to cover before we begin shooting. Who is in charge of writing Lady Alys’ storyline?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>All heads swivelled towards the end of the table. Brienne sighed; she had honestly expected it to be longer before they all threw her under the bus. “That would be me, Mister Lannister. Brienne Tarth.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jaime Lannister stared; swallowing hard. “The scene between her and Ser Jason where she saves his life from the Northerners. That was you?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Before she could respond, Connington intervened. “We’re looking to bring Ser Jason back to his sister early on in season three. The audience like the incest storyline.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No, they<em> really</em> don’t.” Lannister sunk his hands through his thick head of hair. “I was afraid of this. These books are...<em>sacred. </em>The story of the Blue Knight and Goldenhand the Just isn’t just a legend, it’s an integral part of Westerosi history. And it’s been left in the hands of four ‘dudebros’ and a woman with a degree in Ancient History and a Masters in Creative Writing.” He huffed out a breath. “You’re all fired.” </p>
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  <p>The table erupted, then. Shouts and insults flew through the air although Jaime Lannister remained unbothered by them all. None of them had noticed the man in the doorway until he began escorting the writers out. Connington tried to put up a fight but his face was inevitably smushed against the fibreglass door. Rising to her feet, Brienne decided to leave with at least some shred of dignity. </p>
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  <p>She made it three steps before Lannister addressed her. “Ms Tarth, I’d like the proposed storylines for season three on my desk in two hours.”</p>
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  <p>“But I thought—”</p>
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  <p>He met her gaze for the first time. If Brienne was a different kind of woman, she’d have sworn his breath caught. “—you’re free to go if you wish, Ms Tarth. But I hope you don’t. I hope you stay here. Stay with me.”  </p>
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  <p>If Brienne was a different kind of writer, maybe she’d have followed her colleagues out the door. But she wasn’t. She stayed. </p>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. "Strategy" [Jaime makes a tactical decision before the Long Night; Canon Fix-It]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"We Were Happy pls (and happy birthday!)" [anonymous]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WE WERE HAPPY: GOT Fix-It<br/>Part of the “30 Promptathon”.</p><p>Thank you for the birthday wishes! I hope you enjoy this. I am certainly loving writing S8 fix-it at last.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>“Ser Jaime. There’s something I should tell you.” </p>
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  <p>Jaime turned to the young man sitting in the Godswood; the snow on the ground as ashen as his complexion. His return to Winterfell after seven years had not been without its challenges. But seeing Brienne again – even standing in front of Aerys Targaryen’s daughter – was nothing compared to facing the boy in front of him. </p>
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  <p>“You owe me nothing, Bran Stark.”</p>
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  <p>A curious expression crossed the boy’s face. “Consider it payment in kind for your sacrifice.”</p>
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  <p>Jaime barked out a harsh laugh. “A sacrifice that was immediately undercut.” Brienne had just swept to his defence when the Lannister army had arrived in Winterfell. Men armoured in the familiar red and gold. His <em>sister </em>standing atop the snow-covered cobbles; chin aloft. “It means nothing.” </p>
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  <p>“It means everything, whether they came North or not.” Bran’s gaze met his. “There is no child. There never was. There never will be.” </p>
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  <p>Footsteps crunched behind him in the snow; one of his men come to summon him ahead of a final strategy meeting. When Jaime turned back to address Bran Stark, the wolf had faded into the gathering mist. He had no reason to trust the Stark boy. But, then again, the boy should have no knowledge of Cersei’s pregnancy. As the fog curled around his boots, Jaime accepted Bran Stark’s words. </p>
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  <p>There was no child. Another lie, no doubt, to hold him to her. To keep him close like the dog he was. That’s why Cersei had come. Risked her crown, risked her life, risked <em>their babe</em> – not that there even <em>was </em>a babe – to stand in this icy hell alongside wolves and dragons. He was the one thing she could always control. Not Robert, not Joffrey, not even Tommen in the end. </p>
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  <p>No more. </p>
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  <p>In the strategy meeting, those that had drawn swords at the Dragon Pit now stood, shoulder to shoulder, over a map of Winterfell. Snow stood at the head, flanked by both his sisters. On opposite sides were Cersei and Daenerys; their men glaring across the table. Jaime, however, lingered beside Brienne and the Mormont girl. Both his siblings eyed his position; both unsure what it meant. </p>
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  <p>“Ser Jaime, you and your men will occupy the left flank.” </p>
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  <p>He nodded. “It’s good ground. We should be able to hold them there.” </p>
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  <p>The Dragon Queen, however, was not thrilled by his new position. “I believe we should have one of our people with the Lannister men. The last thing we would want is for them to desert us in the heat of battle.” </p>
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  <p>“Perhaps we should have Bronn join your men,” Cersei retorted. “So as to ensure they do not <em>burn </em>our people alive in the <em>heat </em>of <em>battle.</em>” </p>
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  <p>Jaime cleared his throat, unwilling to be caught in this battle of wills between two queens; neither of whom deserved the throne they sought. “Lady Brienne will be my second in command.” No one was more surprised than the woman standing beside him. “We’ve fought together before. I trust her.” At that, he fixed his sister with a long stare. He then turned to Brienne herself. “And I believe that trust to be reciprocated.”</p>
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  <p>“It is.” </p>
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  <p>“Then it’s settled. The Lannister forces will take the left flank; Lady Brienne and Podrick Payne will join us.”</p>
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  <p>Snow responded with a single nod and moved to finalise other battle plans. But despite his assurances and Jaime’s own words, the matter was <em>far </em>from settled. After the meeting had drawn to a close, Brienne caught up to him in the hall. Her hand settled over his right wrist and gently manoeuvred him into an alcove. For a single moment, Jaime wondered whether she intended to kiss him. For every moment after, he was disappointed that she did not. </p>
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  <p>“Why? Why did you insist I join you at the left flank?” </p>
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  <p>
    <em>Why? Why did I come in the first place, Brienne? Why have I been unable to shift you from my thoughts since the moment you came into the light back at the Stark camp? </em>
  </p>
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  <p>He offered none of those questions. Instead, he gave her something else. “I have led several campaigns, Brienne. Only been captured once.” Her lips flickered in a hint of a smile. “Despite what my sister believes, I am a good tactician. Great, even.” He paused. “But I am not the fighter I used to be. You are...perhaps one of the greatest swordsmen I have ever fought. I would be <em>honoured </em>to have you by my side. If you’ll have me.” </p>
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  <p>Whatever Brienne had expected him to say, it was not that. “I will. Have you. <em>Stand by you.” </em>She drew in a deep breath. “We should begin preparations, Ser Jaime.”</p>
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  <p>“By all means, Lady Brienne. Lead the way.” </p>
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  <p>As he followed Brienne through the stone halls of Winterfell, Jaime began making preparations of a different kind. </p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. "Groceries" [Brienne decides to cook dinner for her and her annoying flatmate; Modern AU]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"the other side of the door" [anonymous]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR: Roommate/living together AU</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>Brienne shouldered her way through the front door of her home; her flatmate, Jay Hill, raising a single eyebrow as she entered. “What’s this?”</p>
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  <p>“<em>Groceries,” </em>Brienne huffed as she dropped the bags atop the kitchen counter. “You know, things that people purchase from supermarkets and cook themselves?” </p>
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  <p>Jay lifted himself from the threadbare sofa where he spent most of his days reading alternative historical fiction or watching murder shows on Webflix. His crimson hoodie hid the missing fingers on his right hand as he prodded Brienne’s shopping bags with her left. He made the sign of the seven before slowly backing away. </p>
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  <p>“<em>Sacrilege, </em>Tarth. What will the takeout menus think?” </p>
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  <p>Brienne responded with a single eye roll, to which Jay let out a hearty laugh before retreating, as always, to the sofa. Ignoring her flatmate of six months, Brienne began putting the groceries away. She’d bought staples – milk, bread, toilet paper – but also some ingredients for a hearty dinner or two. Her law course at Winterfell University had finally provided some slack, and Brienne was determined to eat something other than vending machine sandwiches and whatever Jay ordered in. </p>
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  <p>“I’m cooking scallops,” Brienne called out over the off-key theme music to whatever gory show Jay was bingeing now. “Do you want me to make enough for two?” </p>
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  <p>“Kyle coming over, is he?” Brienne threw a tea towel across the open living room. “I’ll avoid the seafood cooked by an exhausted law student, <em>thanks.” </em></p>
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  <p>She just shrugged. “Suit yourself.” </p>
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  <p>Brienne began preparing her ingredients for scallops and bacon in a garlic butter sauce, accompanied by handmade pasta. While perhaps not the <em>healthiest </em>option for a Monday night dinner, it sure won out over a takeaway burger dripping with cheese. Jay would, no doubt, put in an order to <em>Hot Pie’s </em>at the start of the penultimate episode, to ensure he had some fries to stuff in his mouth during the finale. </p>
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  <p>“You know, we <em>could </em>stick on a cooking show.” </p>
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  <p>“Not in this house, Tarth.” </p>
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  <p>She couldn’t understand Jay’s aversion to cooking shows. He would watch the most awful murder shows, cult documentaries, even six hours on how to recreate an age-accurate broadsword (which, to be fair, Brienne had enjoyed as well). But Jay wouldn’t watch cooking shows. No <em>Long Nights in the Kitchen; </em>no <em>Worst Cooks in Westeros. </em>Even <em>High Chef </em>was a no go. Damn shame. As a teenager, Brienne had liked watching repeats of <em>Mouth of the Dragon, </em>where Chef Targaryen would pit two teams against each other in order to win the grand prize of being head chef in one of his restaurants. </p>
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  <p>...of course, that was before his sous chef had burnt him with fryer oil. </p>
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  <p>As Brienne began to make her own pasta, she noticed Jay watching her out of the corner of her eye. She broke the egg, gently mixed it with the flour, and began kneading her dough. Just as she began to roll it out, Jay decided to take a comfort break. He paused <em>Murder in the Wine Cellar </em>and loitered around the kitchen island. </p>
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  <p>“You know, you can <em>buy </em>ready-made pasta.” </p>
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  <p>“Never tastes as good as the real thing.” </p>
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  <p>Jay smiled. “No. No, it does not.” He examined her groceries once again and plucked the scallops from the plastic bag. “Fresh. You didn’t buy them flash-frozen.” </p>
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  <p>“Of course not.” </p>
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  <p>He made a <em>hmm </em>noise with his mouth before setting off to the bathroom at the back of their apartment. It was a reasonable two-bedroom, located along a strip of takeaway joints and betting shops – far, <em>far </em>away from the heart of Winterfell and the more expensive restaurants. It was also a good thirty-minute bus ride from campus, but it was all Brienne could afford. All she could afford with a roommate who didn’t ogle her legs and insist on her not having a lock on her bedroom door. </p>
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  <p>She shuddered at the memory as she put her garlic butter sauce on the heat and finished browning the bacon. With her pasta made and already in the saucepan, it was now time to cook her scallops. </p>
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  <p>“You’ll burn them.” </p>
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  <p>“I will <em>not.”</em></p>
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  <p>Jay appeared beside her elbow. “<em>Trust me. </em>You’ll burn them. Either that or they’ll come out so rubbery you could use them to tarmac the street outside.” </p>
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  <p>Brienne poked the end of her tongs into his shoulder. “You know nothing about scallops, Jay Hill.” </p>
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  <p>“More than you, I’d wager.” </p>
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  <p>“A wager, then? Deal. I’ll make two plates. If my food is edible, we watch anything <em>other</em> than a murder show tonight.” </p>
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  <p>Jay grinned. “And if it <em>isn’t </em>edible, then we decommission the stove and put in something useful. Like a pinball machine or a candy floss dispenser.” </p>
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  <p>“Deal.” </p>
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  <p>Jay hovered far too much for Brienne’s liking, making odd little noises as she turned the scallops. He even began <em>tutting </em>as she plated their dinner. Together they moved to the sofa, plate in hand, the penultimate episode of <em>Murder in the Wine Cellar </em>on pause. Brienne took an eager mouthful. The scallops were cooked to perfection, just like Uncle Endrew had taught her. The sauce was rich and decadent; the pasta had just enough bite. Brienne was more than pleased. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jay, on the other hand, looked like she’d given him food poisoning. “Brienne, this is...” He shoved a mouthful of pasta in his mouth, sagging back on the sofa as he chewed. “...this is fucking incredible.” He broke open a scallop and swept it through the garlic butter sauce. “Do we have any bread?” </p>
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  <p>Brienne handed him the baguette she’d bought from the bakery department. He tore into it like an animal. “<em>This is so good.” </em></p>
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  <p>“Glad to hear it.” She speared a piece of bacon before flicking through Webflix. “How about we watch <em>The Cub’s Den? </em>I know it’s the children’s version, but I always liked how Chef Lannister talked to the kids. He was so soft with them.”</p>
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  <p>An empty plate was dropped atop the coffee table. “Put on whatever you want. I’m going to my room.” </p>
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  <p>Brienne spun her head round to stare at the back of her departing roommate. “Did I say something wrong? Do something?”</p>
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  <p>“No. You didn’t. You were...<em>perfect.” </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She decided to leave Jay to it. After all, it wasn’t like they were <em>friends. </em>Just roommates. Instead, Brienne tucked into her well-deserved dinner and put on the first episode of <em>The Cub’s Den. </em>Fryer oil and scandal aside, Chef Lannister was quite handsome. <em>Beyond </em>handsome: he was a dish that anyone would want to enjoy. Brienne pierced a scallop with her fork. Whatever happened to him? </p>
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